


Send Someone Over

by GraphiteFox



Series: Red Rover [5]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 09:53:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3724498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraphiteFox/pseuds/GraphiteFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Merlin attempt to have an actual serious conversation with each other, which is somewhat hampered by their surroundings, the fact that they are secretly children, and the heavy realization that the Kingsman Organization may not be what they both thought it was.</p>
<p>Direct sequel to The Candle That I Burn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Send Someone Over

**Author's Note:**

> The “fluff” tag has returned!
> 
> This took forever and ended up being so much longer than I intended. I returned to the heart of the series for this one, which is how come these two grown-ass men suck so hard at communicating seriously with each other? Also Merlin is not as good in serious situations as you’d think and Harry is grumpy.

                He walks until daylight, traversing fields and roads he’s never bothered to notice before. At first it’s almost poetic, the way the bright grey light makes everything look greener, but eventually the countryside begins to look the same. His shoes are covered in grass and his pants are damp up past his ankles. What began as a decisive act has devolved into a fairly miserable plod towards civilization. Merlin heads towards the main road and it’s not long before he finds a small bed and breakfast.

                It’s a gaudy place, covered extensively in floral prints and kitsch. The innkeeper gives him a once over but becomes agreeable enough when he pulls out his wallet. Breakfast is on so he orders some tea and toast and picks a seat facing the doorway to wait. It’s possible that no one will come for him, in which case he’ll find a cab to take him back to his flat. For now though, he welcomes the respite.

                It’s Eggsy who finds him, much to his surprise. He steps in wearing his street clothes, and makes a beeline for Merlin. He looks like he’s just survived an intense bar fight. One eye is swollen shut and more of his face is bruised than not. It sends a wave of guilt through Merlin, but Eggsy doesn’t seem bothered.

                He flops down in the opposite chair, appraising Merlin like an eager, if slightly battered, puppy.

                “Do I have a tracker on me?”

                Eggsy snags a piece of toast and begins eating it noisily. “Nah, I just thought ‘bout what I’d do if I was really mad at Harry.”

                “You’d go to a bed and breakfast?”

                Eggsy coughs, presumably to dislodge an errant crumb. “Rox calculated the most likely trajectory you would have taken, somethin’ about the length of your stride and weather patterns last night.” He waves his hand carelessly and takes another piece of toast. “I dunno. She gave me a map, all determined like.”

                That sounds exactly like Roxy. Merlin feels a twinge of pride.

                “She’s keepin’ an eye on Harry while I’m here. Harry just said you were gone, but didn’t explain what that meant.” Eggsy’s good eye opens as wide as it can. “You aren’t, right? He’s just bein’ dramatic, yeah?”

                Merlin chuckles briefly. “I have no doubt that Harry _is_ being dramatic. However, to answer your question Eggsy, yes. For the moment, I am gone.”

                He watches the boy’s mind work, tongue chasing crumbs from his teeth as he thinks.

                “It’s none of my business—“

                “It’s not.”

                “— _but_ ,” Eggsy continues, “Harry is a fuckin’ mess. I think he slept in his office. He’s been drinkin’ scotch all day, and he hates scotch.” _Dramatic, indeed_.

                “Has he been on the internet?” Merlin asks, pushing the remaining triangle of toast towards Eggsy.

                “Uh, dunno. Why?”

                “No reason.” He remembers their last fight, a silly thing. Harry had found out that Merlin had been lying to him about reservations and meetings for months by claiming they were scheduled a half hour earlier than they actually were. When Merlin pointed out that it was the only way to ensure Harry was ever on time, they’d gone back and forth for a bit before Harry had left in a huff.

                The separation lasted only five hours, but during that time Harry had purchased a coat rack, a new set of sheets, and had inquired about the latest Jaguar. He’d also drank a substantial amount of scotch, which had only made him more miserable. Merlin spent the evening plying him with tea and toast. The coat rack had been returned and the inquiry withdrawn. They’d kept the sheets because they were 1000 count and _really nice._

                Eggsy’s phone makes three short blips in a row and he frowns. “Rox wants to know what’s happening.” He turns his wide puppy-like eyes on Merlin, the effect slightly ruined by the bruising. “You gonna make me tell them you ain’t comin’ back?”

                “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Eggsy, but I think it’s best if I stay away for awhile. I almost got you killed.”

                “If that’s why you--!”

                Merlin stops him. “It’s one of the many reasons, yes. Your lives mean too much for me to be cavalier about them.”

                “We can figure it out, yeah? Don’t leave.”

                “I’m sorry, Eggsy. I need some time.”

                Eggsy bites his lip. “I was thinkin’, what if I tell Harry where you’re stayin’ and maybe you two can talk some more, yeah?”

                It would be interesting, Merlin thinks. A discussion away from the trappings of the mansion or the safety of their homes. But maybe that’s what they need, a place where they can be on an equal footing, or at least equally uncomfortable. A place with no history.

                Not to mention that he already misses Harry terribly.

                “Fine. But Eggsy, don’t let him drive.”

                He nods. “Way ahead of you.” With a small wave, Eggsy ducks out of the inn holding the last piece of toast.

                Merlin orders a new plate of toast and more hot water for the teapot. His mind is surprisingly empty, his nerves calm. The only thing he feels is the throbbing of his feet, which are still cross about the long walk in fitted shoes, and the slight headache he has from squinting at everything. His glasses are still in the barracks and he wishes he’d had the foresight to grab them before stalking out.

                He still hasn’t slept, but he hasn’t had any hallucinations since last night. He crunches thoughtfully at the fresh toast, wondering if Harry will come. His disdain is not something Merlin will easily forget.

                Measured footsteps alert him to Harry’s presence. The innkeeper attempts to intercede, but he politely motions to Merlin and she throws him a look of suspicion. Merlin can only imagine what’s she’s thinking, having seen a kid beaten all to Hell and now a drunk man in an expensive suit come looking for him. Whatever Harry tells her seems to content her enough to leave them well alone.

                He approaches with a stiff gait that betrays his intoxication. Merlin knows how he’ll sound: all slow, crisp enunciation to avoid potential slurring.

                “May I?”

                The chair is still pulled out from where Eggsy left it. Merlin nods and Harry sits, brushing at his coat. His eyes are a bit glassy and unfocused, but for the most part he looks as dignified as always. Usually after a fight Merlin will find Harry in his shirtsleeves, appropriately rumpled. But here in public, they are still gentlemen. A bit stupid and desperate, but a real gentleman can fake it for the benefit of those around him.

                “Tea?” offers Merlin. “I can ask for a second cup.” He doesn’t think the innkeeper will appreciate this request, but she’s likely hiding around the doorway eavesdropping anyway.

                “No, thank you,” says Harry, tugging idly at his shirt cuffs. He’s forgotten his cuff links, the only real indication of his state of mind. “Roxy watched me drink an entire pot before she’d let me leave. She’s become as bad as you.”

                “I think I’ll take that as a compliment.”

                “That’s exactly what she told me.”

                Merlin smiles at this briefly. Raising his hand, he rubs at the creases between his brows, which have become more pronounced from squinting.

                “Ah,” says Harry, reaching into his jacket. “I thought you might want these.” He produces Merlin’s glasses and gives them a quick wipe with his handkerchief before handing them over.

                When Merlin slips them on he feels instantly better. Everything around him is clearer, from the misery embedded in Harry’s expression to the floral horror of the room they’re in.

                “That was thoughtful of you, thank you.”

               Harry nods, then sighs. “We’re too old to be behaving like this.”

                “Says the man who’s drunk before noon.”

                Harry runs his fingers through his hair, sending it fluffing up in all directions. “Yes, well, it’s been a long estrangement.”

                “It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours,” Merlin points out.

                “Still too fucking long in my opinion.”

                Despite his forced nonchalance, Merlin agrees. But no fight has ever felt like this one. He still feels laid bare, skin still tender. It’s all he can do to sit here in front of Harry, anxiously awaiting every new sentence, wondering which will be soft and which will condemn.

                Harry keeps shifting one leg over the other. His eyes slide across the room, taking in the flowery upholstery, the impractical amount of doilies, and the host of kitsch items on every wall and shelf. His frown deepens.

                “Do you have a room?”

                “I’m not really in the mood, Harry.”

                Harry huffs. “That’s not what I meant. I just want to talk to you somewhere not so… _frilly_.”

                “I would have thought this was right within your tastes.”

                Harry’s not sober enough to be amused. Instead, he fixes Merlin with a glower. They’re going to accomplish nothing until Harry’s sobered up and Merlin’s had some sleep.

                He pushes the plate with its remaining toast forward for a second time today. “Eat this first.”

                “Honestly, Merlin—“

                “Did Roxy also force you to eat? If you want to talk, you can eat this first.”

                Harry stares at him for a long while, then finally relents. “It’s cold,” he grumbles between bites.

                Merlin says nothing and sips his tea while Harry finishes the toast. There’s only one napkin so Harry tugs it off Merlin’s lap and brushes the crumbs from his lips and collar before folding it and setting it neatly on the table.

                The innkeeper is behind the desk, staring resolutely at her computer screen. She glances up at them as they exit the dining room, the move too quick to be casual. Merlin asks for his room key and she flicks her sharp eyes at the both of them in turn.

                “It’s only a double bed in there.”

                “We can always set up a barrier out of pillows,” Harry remarks lightly.

                Merlin does his best to keep his expression neutral but the lady knows she’s being mocked. She slams the key down on the table and excuses herself abruptly.

                Harry raises an eyebrow, the very picture of innocence. _All right, so perhaps he can still be amused._

                The room key is attached to a wooden knocker embellished with pink roses. Merlin shakes his head in wonder at it. How can so much pink exist in one building? He’s a little afraid to actually see the room, though that’s partly because it means being enclosed in a small space with Harry and their feelings.

                Merlin’s barely closed the door when Harry’s arms wrap around him, holding him tight enough to bruise. It’s not quite what he was expecting, but he’s not about to complain. There’s not much he can do with Harry pressed against his back, so he rests his hands on the other’s wrists, thumbs stroking the exposed skin. “Harry…”

                “I should have run after you.” He mumbles the words against Merlin’s neck, full of regret.

                “No. That wouldn’t have ended well.”

                “Still,” Harry insists. “I’m not proud of how I reacted.”

                “You were hurt. I understand. Also let’s not forget who yelled right back.”

                “I…” Harry pauses, trying to find the right words. He exhales with an irritated sound. “I’ve been running words through my head for hours and they’ve all escaped me now.”

               “Good,” says Merlin. “I’m too tired to talk now anyway. Let’s sleep first and then you can regale me with your superior diction.”

               “How come sleep deprivation doesn’t stop you from being a smart-arse?” grumbles Harry, his hands finally slipping from Merlin’s waist. “Bloody fucking hell.”

              “What?” asks Merlin, turning around He understands immediately as he sees the bed, wrapped in the most garish floral duvet he’s ever seen, complete with dozens of small frilly pillows. The wallpaper matches the duvet, making the room feel like an overwhelmingly tacky garden. The nightstand even has a doll resting by the phone, her dress embroidered in pink kittens. “Jesus,” he says, then starts laughing.

              Harry is too affronted to laugh, but Merlin does until there are tears in his eyes. “To think a place like this even exists,” he marvels. He can’t remember the last time he’s had a proper laugh, but he’s delirious with fatigue and it’s like being trapped inside a dollhouse. He goes to the bed and shoves all but two pillows onto the floor. They scatter like puffy pastel petals across the beige carpet.

             “You can’t be serious.”

             Merlin looks up from unlacing his shoes, which have become nearly unbearable. He’s going to have blisters for sure. “Go back to headquarters then, if you’re going to be such a princess about it. I’m going to sleep.”

                Harry mashes his palm against his eyes for a moment, then slides off his coat.

                Merlin sets his watch and glasses on the nightstand, but not before turning the doll to face the wall. He’s not normally squeamish about these things, but the wide staring eyes are unnerving at best. If Harry notices, he says nothing as he climbs into the bed, still grumbling. The grumpiness will wear off once he’s had some sleep. It always does.

                He feels the brush of Harry’s hand against his, questioning, and allows their fingers to interlock. It’s not the most comfortable of positions, but Harry is rarely so needy and it helps Merlin feel grounded. Warm, surrounded by the scent of clean sheets and a hint of scotch off Harry’s breath, he falls asleep.

               

                _He’s in the barracks again. The lights are off but he can make out a form on the cot beside him. Reaching over, he clicks on his personal light, illuminating enough of the other person for him to see._

_It’s Harry. He’s dressed in a suit and his eyes are closed, hands folded over his stomach. Blood is dripping down the right side of his face from his hairline._

_“Harry!”_

_Merlin leaps off his bed and splashes into water, knee-deep. Water in the barracks—he’s being tested. But no, it’s just him and Harry and Harry is dying._

_“Harry!” he calls again, urgently, but there is no response._

_The water is rising steadily now. He knows what he’s expected to do: create an alternative air supply. But that won’t help Harry. His only choice is to break the two-way mirror._

_Merlin pulls Harry over his back and starts treading towards the mirror. His neck feels wet and he doesn’t know if it’s from the water or Harry’s blood. He doesn’t want to know._

_He makes it to the mirror just as the water rises above their heads. It takes him a moment to find purchase, then he’s smashing his fist into the glass, feeling pain jolt through his hand with every punch. There’s little give and his hand is screaming with pain but all he can think about is getting Harry out._

                _The mirror shatters, but instead of releasing them into the next room, nothing happens. Merlin scrabbles at the shards, slicing his fingers as he yanks them off the wall. There is no other room. Behind the mirror is only concrete. Blood swirls in the water around them._

_He can’t breathe, he can’t—_

               

                Merlin bolts up, heart pounding. For a moment he’s paralyzed, then his lungs kick in and he inhales deeply. He takes in the room, the pillows on the floor, the warm weight beside him.

                Harry is watching him, his mouth slightly open. “You were shaking. I tried to wake you.”

                “You brought me out?” asks Merlin, rubbing his face.

                “Tried to,” Harry corrects. “You kept saying my name. For a moment I thought you were awake.”

                Merlin reaches for his watch, bringing it close to his face. “Nearly three full hours. I suppose that’s something.”

                “What were you dreaming about?”

                The desire to lie, to fabricate some standard nightmare, is still strong. Merlin marvels at this, wondering how his mind could even consider lying at this stage. He’d tried that, and look what happened. Before he can think too much about it, he tells Harry about the barracks, the mirror, the blood in the water and the inevitable drowning.

                Harry is quiet for a moment, rubbing his fingers across his mouth.

                “Are they always like that?”

                “Not exactly,” Merlin admits.

                “Tell me.”

                He tells Harry about the nightmares, about the broken fingers and the fractured ribs and the church; about the shadowy figure that torments him; about how the shadowy figure has a familiar voice and a familiar face. He tells Harry everything, and all the while Harry’s frown deepens and his eyes soften and by the time Merlin finishes they’re both feeling fragile again.

                “You’ve been having dreams like that for _months_?” asks Harry, sitting up. “Christ, Merlin. Why didn’t you say anything?”

                “I didn’t want you to worry. I figured that when things quieted down, they’d go away. By the time I realized how bad it had gotten, I’d already dug myself such a large hole that…” Merlin shrugs, offering a weak smile. “If it’s any consolation, I hated lying to you.”

                “I should have been more aware,” Harry responds, his eyes resting on his hands for a moment. “I was so involved in my own thoughts that I failed to notice you were suffering.”

                “Give me some credit,” Merlin says, his tone light. “I put a lot of effort into distracting you. I’d hate to think I only got so far because you happened to be drowning in paperwork.”

                Harry shakes his head. “You were right. I was arrogant.”

                “And in return I was cruel,” Merlin tells him. “Shall we play a game? Who’s more at fault?” He leans over to tug at the nightstand drawer. “There should be paper here somewhere, we can keep score.”

                “Merlin.”

                He tugs out the small notepad then, chuckling, holds it over his shoulder for Harry to see. Even the stationery is covered in pink roses.

                “Christ,” whispers Harry, sounding exasperated now. “Are you going to turn all of this into a joke?”

                “I’m going to give it my best shot, yes. Let’s be honest, this place was a gift. If we were at one of your hotels we’d still be making small talk in the dining room.”

                “You’re unbearably difficult sometimes.”

                Harry’s words sober him, because Merlin knows he’s right. Harry has always been forthright about his feelings, even from their first real interaction. To Harry there’s no point in prevaricating. He is a man of action, ready to fight the good fight at any time.

                Merlin slips the stationery back into the drawer and sighs. “If I’m honest, Harry, this all seems wrong. You’re the one who was shot in the head. I know what I said last night, but I’m just a handler for Christ’s sake.”

                “A handler who watched me get shot from my own point of view. You stared down the same barrel I did.”

                “It’s not the same.”

                “That’s not how it works. People process trauma differently. A soldier may never experience it, a common citizen may be affected by watching a catastrophe on television.”

                “Have you been on the internet?”

                “Talking to Morgan, actually,” Harry responds stiffly. “You’re not the first Kingsman to suffer from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, nor the first handler.”

                Merlin is quiet for a moment. “Gaheris?” he asks finally.

                Harry nods.

                Gaheris had never been quite the same after Gawain passed away, but at the time they’d chalked it up to grief.   He’d volunteered suddenly for field work and everyone had been surprised when Arthur had granted the request. Merlin had aided Harry in retrieving his body a week later.

                It had felt like such a loss then. Within the span of two months, Merlin had lost two of his closest friends. Closing his eyes now, he feels the loss again, like a deep well in his chest.

                _The price we pay is so high._

                “Did Arthur know?”

                “He knew,” says Harry, and his voice takes on an edge that Merlin’s not expecting. “He knew a lot of things.”

                “What do you mean?”

                Harry sighs and pushes himself out of bed. “You haven’t been the only one keeping secrets lately. I’ve been sorting through Arthur’s files for the past few months and I’ve found some unsavory information.”

                Merlin raises his eyebrows. “Are you going to tell me?”

                “Yes, in a moment. An entire pot of tea, remember?” Harry heads into the bathroom and Merlin hears him make a disgusted sound, probably at whatever new decorative travesty this dollhouse inn has to offer.

                When Harry emerges, he’s frowning. “This place is horrific.”

                “It’s starting to grow on me. I might even be persuaded to get some throw pillows now. Tasteful ones, of course. Maybe sunflower patterns edged in a dark manly blue.”

                “Very funny,” Harry responds, though this time he rewards Merlin with a tight smile.

                It’s a small victory, Merlin thinks. They have faced the precipice and have begun to take solid strides away from it.

                Harry settles back in bed, propping himself up against the headboard.

                “Your turn.”

                “Mm,” Harry agrees. “My turn.” He’s silent for a moment and Merlin recognizes that look. Harry is choosing his words carefully, deciding how to approach the topic. “I’m without doubt now that Arthur was going to throw you to the wolves.”

                “Unless I agreed to join him, presumably.”

                “No. He would never have given you the chance. He knew you’d side with me.”

                “I don’t think I appreciate being so predictable.”

                Harry chuckles briefly. “I suspect you were making him nervous. You know more about Kingsman than anyone. What makes you the ultimate asset also makes you the ultimate liability.”

                “That sounds like a line from a superhero film.”

                “Don’t be glib,” Harry responds, though there’s no bite in his tone.

                “All right. So Arthur wanted me gone. That’s not particularly surprising. What else do you have?”

                “You remember Gawain?”

                “Of course.”

                “Arthur _was_ going to burn him. I found an official report stating that Gawain had been lost in the field, which we both know didn’t happen. The report was negated, but never destroyed. Arthur also had side missions going on that no one knew about. He kept a separate feed for them.”

                Merlin snaps his gaze over, his mind working. “What do you mean ‘a separate feed’? That’s not possible.”

                “I’ll show you later. It must have been set up by your predecessor, so don’t get too out of sorts over it.” Harry smirks at him briefly. “You’re still our master wizard.”

                “Who ended up being blindly manipulated by his king.”

                “He wasn’t exactly obvious about it, Merlin. He couldn’t overplay his hand. Although he knew about us not long after Marrakesh, so I imagine he distracted us with each other. We just thought of how fortunate we were and left it at that.”

                “So he’d been playing with our lives for years.”

                Harry’s contemplative now, his gaze focused on some spot on the wall. “I don’t think he intended to. I think he lost sight of how to manage so many people and took control where he could. It doesn’t excuse him, but I think it’s easy to become overwhelmed here. You and I are evidence of that.”

                “So Kay, Lanval, and Madoc…”

                Harry nods. “All running side missions under Arthur’s command.”

                “I wondered why they were always overseas and operating without a handler. It seems obvious now.”

                “Hindsight,” Harry replies. “The dangers of trusting blindly.”

                “Well it didn’t benefit them, either.” Kay, Lanval, and Madoc were lost the moment Merlin had activated Valentine’s implants. However necessary it had been, it didn’t change the fact that he’d killed a lot of people, including men he’d trusted.

                “It’s not your fault, Merlin,” says Harry, no doubt reading into his expression. “They made their own decisions.”

                _As I make mine_ , Merlin thinks. “How long have you known about these things?”

                “Like I said, there’s been quite a bit to sort through. It would appear that Kingsman hasn’t been what we thought it was. Not for awhile.”

                “Now _you’re_ the one who’s dissembling.”

                Harry smiles. “Yes. For much the same reason you were. In our haste to protect each other, we made a mess, didn’t we?”

                “Indeed.” It’s a lot to think about. What’s clear to him is that things need to change. _They_ need to change. He tells Harry this and gets a nod in return.

                “That’s the goal. We’ll untangle the knots and start afresh. If we’re fortunate we’ll have things resolved before we’re too old to think properly.”

                Merlin snorts. “I’d say we’re already on the cusp of that.”

                Harry simply smiles, having expected such a response. “Now that we’ve addressed that, I’ve made a decision.”

                “About?”

                “Me doing field work.”

                _Ah_. “Harry, I was unfair about that.”

                But Harry shakes his head. “You were right. I didn’t once consider how it would make you feel. I said ‘we’ and I was serious. So I will go back once you’re ready to let me.”

                “I think you know what I’m going to say.”

                Harry grimaces. “Then prepare for me to begin showing signs of my new sedentary lifestyle.”

                Merlin chuckles and runs his hand across his lover’s stomach, feeling the corded muscles flex. Despite his hospitalization and recent stress, Harry is still in fine form. Merlin knows Harry’s vanity won’t stand for anything less. “I don’t mind.”

                Harry’s expression softens. “I’ve made another decision.”

                “Seems to be a trend,” Merlin replies wryly.

                “I would like you to speak with Morgan. She’s well-trained to assist you where I can’t. She—“

                Merlin holds up his hand. “You can save your speech, Harry. I agree. If I’m going to return to my position, she’s going to have to sign off first.”

                “But you will return?” Harry has the same puppy-like eagerness that Eggsy does. It’s probably why they both get away with so much.

                “You’ve been operating under that assumption this entire time,” Merlin reminds him.

                “True, but you haven’t actually agreed to return.”

                It’s his life, he thinks. Even if he tried to walk away, there’s still Harry. There’s still Eggsy, Roxy, and all the others. He feels the same responsibility as Harry, to alter the nature of Kingsman. To make it what it should be. It’s laughable to think he could choose another path at this point. It’s laughable to think that he’d want to. He needs rest, but he’ll still need Kingsman afterwards.

                Harry rests his hand on Merlin’s arm. “I will understand if you refuse. Nothing changes between us. Except, perhaps, the amount of time we spend together. We’ll have to start scheduling our dates.”

                “We have to do that now anyway,” Merlin points out.

                “I’m serious.”

                There’s a warm swell in his chest at this. If there’s one thing Harry’s always been honest about (and there are many things, in truth), it’s his love for Merlin. It’s been an endless source of confusion for him, how they could have fallen together so quickly, so wonderfully. They’re a mess of pride and vanity, still enamored enough after all these years to fail at having proper extended fights. The truth is that he’ll follow Harry anywhere, regardless of the cost. He knows Harry will do the same.

            “I know,” he says. “And that’s why I’m staying. I’m still going to take some leave, but I will return with Morgan’s blessing. Also with Eggsy and Roxy’s, considering they’re the ones I endangered directly,” Merlin adds.

                Harry visibly relaxes into the pillows. “I don’t think that will be an issue. Eggsy has been wandering around looking guilty about almost being killed and Roxy—well, I’m sure you’ve noticed that she almost never takes off those earrings you gave her. They’ve become very fond of you in a short period of time.”

                “I seem to have that effect on people,” says Merlin, reaching over to card his fingers through Harry’s hair. It doesn’t curl quite like it used to, but it still fluffs well enough. “Also, as I’m the ‘ultimate asset’, you’re rather hopeless without me.”

                “We all are,” Harry agrees, his eyes now closed.

                They sit in silence for a moment, Merlin continuing to stroke Harry’s hair. The wounds are still there, he thinks, but they’re healing. They’ve come a long way from being two boys flirting in a foreign country, though Merlin is constantly reminded how juvenile they can still be. He brushes his thumb over the bullet scar on Harry’s forehead, causing him to shift.

                “I’ve made another decision.”

                “ _Harry_. What happened to your entire speech about us making decisions ‘together’?”

                “It’s about us,” Harry responds, using one hand to push Merlin’s fingers back into his hair. “We’re taking a vacation.”

                Merlin is speechless. They’ve never taken a vacation together. A day after a mission, or mandatory sick leave, but never an actual, dedicated vacation. “Where?”

                “What about Paris?”

                “Too busy.”

                “Bruges?”

                “Too peaceful.”

                “Fine,” Harry mumbles. “You decide.”

                “Saved something for me, did you?”

                Harry is quiet for a moment and Merlin thinks he’s fallen asleep until he says in a flat tone, “But I get to choose the hotel. You have no taste.”

                Leaning over, Merlin grabs one of the throw pillows off the floor and uses it to clout Harry right in the face. Harry shouts and suddenly they’re tousling like teenagers, limbs flailing off the edge of the bed. It ends with Harry pinning him down, a smug grin on his gorgeous face.

                “Don’t gloat,” Merlin warns him.

                “To the victor,” Harry says, then leans down to claim his lips.

                “Stubble,” Merlin complains. “Also you still taste like alcohol.”

                “Now who’s being a princess? You aren’t exactly put together yourself.”

                Merlin pulls Harry down again, this time rubbing his cheek against Harry’s to return the favor. “I’m starving,” he says, more than ready to return to normalcy. He thinks he might even be able to get some uninterrupted sleep this time.

                “As am I. Let’s get out of this godforsaken place, find some food, and try for another three hours of sleep.”

                “Take out at your place?” Merlin suggests.

                “At _my_ place?” asks Harry. “Someone is feeling magnanimous.”

                “Let’s just say that our time here has heightened my resistance to questionable aesthetics.”

                This time Harry reaches for the pillow.

+

                Merlin hums to himself as he disables several security cameras at HQ. He’s in his home office, drinking tea in his pajamas. Harry has asked him to do something enjoyable today and Merlin knows just the thing. He checks the halls outside Harry’s office on the monitor.

                “Clear.”

                Just because he’s still on leave doesn’t mean he’s devoid of resources.

                “I’m in,” Roxy whispers as the lock clicks. Despite Eggsy’s thieving background, it’s Roxy who excels at lockpicking, and she has a better poker face to boot. Merlin watches via her video feed as she shuts the door and moves swiftly across Harry’s office.

                Leaning over the desk, Roxy places a throw pillow in Harry’s chair just so. It’s the loudest floral pattern Merlin could find, edged in pink ruffles. It’s hideous and perfect.

                She’s out in seconds, the door locked behind her. When she’s out of view, Merlin brings all the cameras back up, giving him a perfect view of Harry’s office door.

                “Mission complete,” Roxy tells him, and it’s easy to hear the grin in her voice.

                Merlin leans back in his chair, lips pursed to hide a wry smile. “Well done, Lancelot.”

                _James would be proud_ , he thinks. Misuse of company resources was always the previous Lancelot’s forte. Roxy is simply helping carry on the tradition.

                Some things are worth preserving.

                The sensor to the right of his screen indicates that someone has just arrived via subway car.

                “Good morning, Arthur,” Merlin says, and waits.

**Author's Note:**

> What Harry doesn’t know is that Merlin has stashed a considerable amount of kitsch, which he plans to strategically deploy for the remainder of his leave. The throw pillow is only the start of the torment. :) Harry’s not the only one who can be a smug bastard. 
> 
> I’m pleased to say that they’ll be okay, though it won’t be easy. Nothing is with these two.
> 
> I’ll be taking a break from Red Rover to work on a Harlin AU where Harry gets to be the silly nerd this time. Less angst, a lot more fun.
> 
> Also, if anyone remembers the horrible floral inn from Gilmore Girls, that’s exactly what I was thinking of when I wrote this.
> 
> Last but not least, THANK YOU. I keep seeing the same names pop up and I'm eternally grateful you've stuck with the series. It really does mean a lot. <3


End file.
